


Cruel And Unusual Punishment

by fandomfluffandfuck



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Begging, Bondage, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Dry Humping, Dry Orgasm, Feminization, Immobility, Lust, M/M, Manhandling, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Passing Out From Orgasming, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Punishment, Responsive Bucky, Riding, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sensation Play, Sex Toys, Sexting, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spanking, Stamina, Strength Kink, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, Super Soldier Serum (Marvel), Teasing, Top Steve Rogers, Use of The Word Pussy Really, Voice Kink, Wet Dream, bratty bucky, lesson learning, libido, sensitive bucky, sex drive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfluffandfuck/pseuds/fandomfluffandfuck
Summary: Bucky's done something he shouldn't have... now he's going to learn his lesson.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 14
Kudos: 198





	Cruel And Unusual Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> You can come scream at me on Tumblr if you wish! It's the same username as I have here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/fandomfluffandfuck

Steve hasn’t been home all day. He’s been bouncing between different floors of the tower like a navy colored ping-pong ball, one second he’s “sparring” with Nat (really he’s letting her get her “old man” lecture out of the way for the day) the next he’s on a quick mission with Sam to clear up some loose ends. Then he’s helping Tony lift some heavy machinery down in the lab, moving it from one place before he decides he didn't actually need that piece move no doubt, at one point Thor is around for some fucking reason he’s also looking for Steve and… Bucky has not got to see Steve at all. He wasn’t even in bed when he woke up. He was on a run. Then he was showering. Then he was meeting with someone and for some fucking reason he had to be straped into his stealth suit for that meeting and that’s not fair. It's not a fair fight if he's stuck into that. Not for anyone. Not for the people he’s in “stealth” against or for Bucky because Bucky has to look at him while he’s wearing the thing. Someone should seriously tell Tony that the world “stealth” doesn’t mean skin tight and drool inducing. 

Someone should tell Bucky’s body to take a damn day off. 

He’s not seen Steve all day. That’s a fact. He’s been thinking about him though, the entire time, like, hell, every second Bucky’s been thinking about him. 

It’s not his fault even, not really. It’s Friday for fucks sake and the week has been littered with loose ends that all need Captain America’s attention, Bucky hasn’t seen Steve during daylight hours all the while and… he’s a super soldier too. He’s got different talents than him, sure, that doesn’t mean that his body is all that different in operation though. 

He needs Steve all the time. Right now he needs Steve to come home and bang him like a screen door in a hurricane.

His text has been delivered to his stupid boyfriend’s phone, his own mini-computer has happily told him that, but he’s yet to get a response. Not even a thumbs up! All he’d sent was a tame (well… tame for them) ‘you need to get your ass home so you can get in my ass’ with a little heart because he does have class too, y’know? He’s got class and needs. And it’s seven p.m. 

And Steve’s nowhere to be seen nor heard. 

Or he isn’t until Bucky’s phone buzzes, sending a shock of ‘oh’ through him because he’s apparently deprived enough to have that fucking reaction to his phone sitting in his lap… God. He’s pathetic. He should just march himself into their bedroom and fuck himself with that nice, thick, expensive vibrator that Steve bought him on a whim because what the fuck is the best thing twenty first century money can buy any how? How good could it really make him feel anyway? (Spoiler: the answer is embarrassing because Bucky had legitimately had a good enough time riding that fucking thing that he’d cum dry by the end of it. Yeah. Running out of cum is something he didn’t know could happen to his body until it did. And it sent endless bolts of pleasure cutting into his very being). God. He really should. It might set Steve right. Might get him to break the bed again. To really put his back into it. 

Another buzz happens. Going wasted in his hand instead of his lap. 

Bucky holds up his phone and banishes the tremors building in his wrist. Two messages await him. Both are three words, spelled out across the screen and acting like they’re innocent or something- neither of the messages are the three words that they should be according to the world's perception of Steve. Poster boy, shomoster boy. The first is a daring, ‘be good, Bucky’ and the second is ‘wait for me’ the cutesy little three words of ‘I love you’ is no where to be seen. Buxky doesn't mind. The two different three little words both have a similar effect on Bucky, well, in that they make his chest explode in butterflies. Not in the fact that they make his dick twitch. He loves when Steve’s plays this game and surely… surely if he’s setting up a game then that means he’s gonna let him have his way, right? Surely he’ll get something. 

Salivating and shifting on the sofa restlessly Bucky allows his serum-perfected eidetic memory to run wild. 

Will Steve make him cum a bunch of times to make up for his waiting? Will Steve disregard all his waiting and make him blow him in the shower before claiming to be too tired from running around like he's a chicken with his head cut off to do anything about Bucky’s “problem” and make him go to bed achy and needy? Hard and waiting? Bucky hates to love those kinds of games… the last time their games took that direction Bucky was woken up for once by something that wasn’t a nightmare. He’d been rolled and pinned to the bed by a very sleepy Steve who claimed he’d woken up to Bucky drooling, whimpering, and having a wet dream. Trying to get himself off in his sleep. Steve had sloppily kissed him and wondered aloud if Bucky had ever even gone soft. 

His toes curl in his socks thinking about that particular orgasm. It had felt like it had been pulled from every corners of his soul. Taking everything out of him. Like his insides had melted together and been poured out of his dick, leaving him empty and, just, pleased. Satisfied. His jaw clenches subconsciously, in hunger and in mock frustration. He hates waiting to cum. Even if Steve is very good at reminding him why it's always better when he does wait. 

Maybe neither of those will happen though. Maybe Steve will raid their closet and toy box. 

Shivers claim Bucky’s skin as he thinks of that spreader bar burning a hole in their closet. It’s a custom made one. Long enough that it really, really makes his inner thighs and ass ache because of the stretch. Though that stretch in his ass could be blamed on Steve’s habit of holding his cheeks wide while he licks into him. That toy also usually means he’s going to end up spread wide, well duh, but spread in the most vulnerable, humiliating positions, ones that have his tongue flicking out to wet his lips just thinking about. One's that make him feel like there are more eyes on him than just Steve’s calculating ocean-blues. 

Maybe Steve will spread him with that and then tie his hands down somehow and fuck him until he’s shaking and would’ve collapsed if his limbs hadn’t been manipulated into submission. Maybe he’ll do the thing he does that drives Bucky Up The Fucking Wall. Where he ties him down and fucks him again and again and again until Bucky’s insides are stretched and used in the best way possible but it’s not complete because Steve’s been pulling out the whole time and finishing over his back so he’s not fucked full. Just dirtied up instead. Bucky accidentally lets a whimper slide right out of his own mouth at the thought. 

He absolutely hates when Steve wastes his cum. With a passion. 

All the possibilities of what Steve might have in store for him swirl in his head. Taking up so much space in his brain with such a sweet alluring siren call that Bucky literally sits in the same place (save for his subconscious squirming) on the couch fantasizing and staring blankly ahead of himself until Steve’s keys slot into the lock and his footsteps come through the apartment. Accidentally and subconsciously obeying Steve's commands as given through text.

“Bucky,” Steve coos, materializing in front of him with a smug smirk painting his heavenly and devilishly handsome lips. His dinner plate palms come up to cup the sides of his face. Something melts inside him at the feel of his calluses sliding over his flushed skin, it makes him feel dangerously soft and precious even though he's got nearly the same (and his are possibly even worse) calluses on his own hands. He's always been illogical when it comes to Steve though. Why should this be any different? Bucky melts further into his hold when Steve tuts at him, the sound making Bucky flashback to being lightly scolded by his ma a few lifetimes ago, his cheeks flush at the same time that his eyes slide shut in a damn near pavlovian response, the last thing he sees is Steve giving him those classic calculating eyes that actually mean he's sliding into his role. Not that he’s trying to understand why Bucky’s reacting the way he is, he’s just thinking too hard about how to make him fall apart even though he barely has to try at this point. He sighs, trusting Steve wholly and letting him take the full weight of his head. 

The hands he's always adored so much shake his head just a touch, teasing him. 

Bucky flicks his eyes up just as Steve goes from squatting down to standing, he curls his lips, charming Bucky like a snake with his words, “whatcha thinkin’ bout, babydoll?” He keeps his hands on his face but the hold turns to something that's meant to control. Not to comfort. Heat slides into the cracks of Bucky’s battered soul.

God does Bucky love this fucking man. 

He always knows just what he needs. 

Those poster-boy eyes flick down to his lap and Bucky finds himself chuckling, as if the bastard doesn’t already know. Steve's gun and fight callused fingers drum over his face, pinching his chin in his other hand. Reminding him nonverbally to not slip. He needs to answer him. Logic aside, fuck Steve knowing just what’s going on in his head, he always wants to hear it anyway. Bucky shivers, waiting. 

“I want an answer,” Steve whispers, there it is, he thinks, Steve’s voice curls quietly around the words so they still are an order despite the volume. His fingers brush his cheekbones, keeping his other fingers locked on his chin, and Bucky feels blood rush to his cheeks as if it’s also been commanded to do so. 

“You.” 

The honesty rings true between them. Raw and powerful. It aches in Bucky’s chest and he can tell from the softening around Steve's eyes that the feeling is mutual. 

Steve only lets it show on his face for a second though, so fast that no one but Bucky would’ve ever caught it, and Bucky suddenly knows just the game they’re playing. He doesn’t get to revel in having the upper hand for long. It’s not even that he wants the upper hand, he wants, no, he craves Steve having and keeping the advantage. However. He’s not lost to the hot, white thrill that cuts through him. 

More of that heat gathers in his belly, filling him up with even more need as he’s moved. The gasp that worms it's way out of his throat isn't known to his own brain until it's filtered through his ears and back into his head as he's hefted over Steve's broad, meaty shoulder. His cock throbs in his pants. He whimpers through his shut lips, god, he's too easy for his strength. He wants to be stronger, ironic choice of words, but it’s true. He does, he wants to make Steve work for that wanted advantage. It’s only that being hauled over his shoulder and back like he weighs nothing is such a comparison to the way they used to do this. It's no less delicious. Maybe more so simply because he doesn’t have to spare any pieces of himself to worrying. 

Steve carries him through their apartment. The fucker doesn’t even start breathing heavily and Bucky can’t smell a single whiff of sweat on him. His cock twitches happily in his pants again. 

Maybe Steve will forgo any non-manual restraints. Maybe he’ll just use his bare hands to hold him down and take it, and the thought has Bucky attempting to grind into the impressive swell of Steve’s chest. He’s set down on the bed before he can get enough momentum to extract any real pleasure from the movement and he petulantly whines for it. For something. Anything. He doesn’t even think about how desperate he’s acting- he overreacts with Steve, sure, so this isn’t anything new but he also knows that that’s something that gets Steve going. Hopefully the quicker he gets Steve going the quicker he’ll get off. 

Steve arranges on their bed. Putting him ass down and pushing his hands to rest by the headboard, palms up, before spreading his legs. 

“Stay,” Steve barks with all the conviction of a master speaking to their well trained dog. 

Bucky inhales thinly, sharp enough to make his throat contract uncomfortably, and for a wild moment lost in his instincts - pinned and metaphorically stripped bare (hopefully to become a reality soon) - he goes to nod. Steve catches his almost slip and lifts his left arm to his mouth. Right up until the actual moment that it happens Bucky assumes he’s going to get a kiss on the wrist, so when he feels Steve’s teeth, he gasps and has to fight with all he’s got in him from writhing under the movement. Especially when the threatened bite of his jaw is followed up by his tongue. Dragging his tongue full, flat, and hot up his wrist to his elbow. 

He lets his mouth drop open instead, knowing that his jaw is usually exempt from the whole staying-completely-still command. No sound comes out because there’s no air left in his lungs. 

Steve smirks at him, crude and unrestrained. Another round of shivers threatens to move his body without a second thought. 

“Please,” he breathes. Letting Steve drop his arm back onto the bed. He doesn’t even stop his arm from bouncing back up, not knowing how seriously Steve is taking his own command. Sometimes no moving means literally don’t move or use your own fucking muscles because I want you helpless and sometimes it means a sort of shoulder shrug, worn in, type of don’t move. Bucky doesn’t want to complicate this by finding out which it is tonight. He doesn’t want to risk it tonight with his balls and dick swollen and achy between his legs. 

“When was the last time you came, pretty baby?” 

The question comes out of left field and Bucky accidentally tips his head to the side in confusion, feeling his hair slay further out against the pillows and sheets, he holds his breath. Steve pulses his thumb against his wrist but doesn’t say anything. He simply raises an eyebrow and looks down, staring at him imposingly from where he’s seated between his spread legs. The pinned feeling returns and Bucky is no longer speechless because of his confusion- he’s just speechless because his brain is melting a little. God, Steve says he’s easy all the time but tonight he’s something else entirely. Something there’s not a strong enough word for. Not even slut. 

When was the last time he came? 

It must’ve been at Steve’s hands, right? He interrogates himself, checking in with his own body for a moment to try and wager how long it must’ve been by the ache settling heavy and throbbing in his balls. They do feel swollen. More so than just a single day of denial would do to him, super soldier serum or not. Bucky cocks his head at Steve again, his motivations morphing again as he searches his mind, “wednesday?” He offers, feeling more timid than he expected to. God. No wonder he’s already crumbling at the hands of his boyfriend. That’s nearly a record for them if you exclude when they’ve gone without each other by necessity and even then they would’ve been getting themselves off. 

“Mmm hmm,” Steve hums, stroking his hair out against their bedding. His breath gets stuck in his throat, expecting the soft touching to turn forceful, but Steve knows he’s waiting for it and so it never comes. He’s an expert at keeping him on his toes. And his knees. 

Nothing but silence and the teasingly light tracing of Steve’s fingertips follow his humming. 

Bucky blinks up at Steve, drawing his eyebrows together and letting his eyes widen, dropping his lips open to allow his consciousness to spill out of him. Steve cuts him off. Interrupting him before he can even begin, “know why?” He circles back to his original question so abruptly that Bucky almost feels dizzy- he’s drowning in it, although, is it really drowning if he wants to be submerged?

Bucky shakes his head, he’s actually got no idea but… he might have an idea based on the set up of those words. More than idea truthfully.

Still, Steve is never one to turn down the possibility for dramatic flare and he’s also never one to turn down the opportunity to tease. Bucky l̶o̶v̶e̶s̶ hates that little fact, that he can’t help but tease, it’s always been that way with him. It’s something he gets off on just as much as he gets off on pushing Bucky around, having control and dominating him. The teasing is just an extension of that, he’s sure. Steve goes from just sitting easily, looking relaxed even, to caging him in with a hulking frame in a second or less. Transforming completely. Melting into something new. Boxing him in and going from a neutral figure to a dominating predator; getting his hands next to his head, planting them there and making sure that his arms are now useless with the way he placed them earlier, that he can’t defend himself, especially with the way Steve seats himself on his thighs. Making sure he’s sitting up too high to be easily bucked off. His breath fans hot and heavy over his face as he whispers into his mouth. Which is hanging open for some reason that Bucky doesn’t have time to decipher when he suddenly is also having trouble getting his breath out of his chest. He’s not making any contact between their lips but almost promising it with his proximity. The touch of his lips never comes. Damn tease. He just keeps talking and talking. Keeping his voice low and rumbling, building in his chest and dragging out of his throat. Velvet against his ears but sandpaper to his conscience. 

Explaining the situation slowly like Bucky’s naive or dumb. Bucky feels his legs part despite the fact that he should feel insulted at the tone of voice. His cheeks grow hotter too, listening to his voice and letting it lull him into lightheadedness- Steve could read him the fucking misinterpreted “homophobic” bible verses and Bucky would get hard instead of getting frustrated or angry. 

The situation in question is from roughly a week ago, last monday, and the summary is that Steve’s phone had rang and Bucky had gotten to it first. 

Which isn’t an issue in itself, that’d be an entirely different and real issue if it was. If Steve was controlling enough to not goddamn let him answer his phone that would be a problem. But it’s not, it happens all of the time and it’s normal. It’s just… Bucky had gotten to it first barely. He had gotten to it not even a second before Steve, their hands had met an inch or so above his phone and Bucky’s was on bottom, so he’d grabbed for it. He was on top of Steve and only maybe a few inches closer, maybe he reacted faster, who knows. He was on top of Steve, not because he’d been sitting in his lap or anything but because he’d been riding him because he’d been particularly “good”- another game they play often. Steve tells him that he must’ve been caught up in “that rush”. The feel-good emotions and reckless, crashing waves of pleasure from being allowed to control the pace, intensity, and so on. And it’s true. Bucky had been lapping up the opportunity, being “greedy” as Steve’s lips tell him and he’d just impatiently picked up the phone. Bucky pants. He wants that again. He knows he won’t be getting it though, he knows that for sure because, yes, yes that had been exactly what he’d done. He’d been bad while being rewarded for being good and Steve hates that- in the way that he hates things when he’s being Bucky’s dom. 

He’d been so caught up in taking what he wanted and needed that he’d just hung up on the person. Not thinking any better of it, well, just not letting himself think better of it. Turning off the logical part of his brain under the pure need pulsing through him. 

Steve had laughed and trusted that Bucky was doing the right thing, chuckling and getting caught up in his reckless energy, biting down on his neck. Then licking a stripe up his neck and calling him “impatient.” Running his hands through Bucky’s sweaty hair and immediately dropping one hand down to grope at his ass while asking him who it was. Bucky remembers shaking his head, offering breathlessly that he didn’t know even though he did, his hair to fall further down from it’s updo and if there was any way to undo Steve in a second that’s the way. The rush of giddiness had overtaken any thought about the name flashing on Steve’s phone- even though he’d been asked directly in that moment. 

It had been Nick Fury. 

He knew it was Nick Fury because while he didn’t stop to read the I.D. he did have an eidetic memory. He’d seen enough of the screen to hang up on the person so of course he’d seen the name on display, even if he hadn’t been thinking in his right mind, not checking to see who it was. Being asked directly made it come to the front of his mind but he was in too deep, really Steve was too deep in him, at that point. So. Evidently though, if the current situation tells him anything it’s that Steve can literally fuck him good enough to make him forget things… things like Nick Fury calling you while you get your rocks off. 

The thing about the director of shield is that he’s a particular man. He does things with a curtain deliberateness that will not be argued with by anyone. He is an unchangeable man. Time does not move or wear Nick Fury down like water against a rock. 

Nick Fury will not call you twice.

He calls you once and he calls with information that you need and will do it with the exact appropriate amount of time. He does not cut corners. He does not fold to what’s easier to you. 

You come to him unless nothing else can be feasibly done. You answer him unless the actual world is ending. Most importantly though-

You do not hang up on Nick Fury. 

Steve looks at him, expecting something with the way his face is resting, even though he knows better than anybody that Bucky’s not planning on apologizing or, god-forbid, begging until times become desperate. Steve may be publicly known as the stubborn one but, hey, no one can spend as much time as they have around each other and not rub off on one another (and, oh dear lord, can his libido please shut the fuck up for a moment, not that kind of rubbing off). 

A huffed breath whooshes out of those stupid, perfect lips. 

“Have it your way, Buck.” His voice isn’t a whisper but it’s also not his normal speaking voice, it’s that special tone of voice that’s reserved for the metaphorical bedroom because, let’s be real, they can’t always either make it to the bedroom or keep it in the bedroom. 

Bucky finds himself being flipped over, his chest and belly hitting the bed with a soft thump, a stray whimper cuts out of his throat despite his best efforts to swallow it down. He breathes in the scent of himself and Steve that’s embedded in the sheets. Successfully swallowing a groan that time. His hips hump down onto the mattress. 

Steve’s hand cracks down over his ass. The command is clear as crystal. 

It stings and sets his nerves ablaze even through the layer of his pants and underwear and he ruins his teasing, “you’re gonna have to try harder than that,” by moaning his way through it. Sue him. He likes it when Steve uses his honor-and-righteousness intentioned strength for evil. 

Steve chuckles darkly, burying his naughty words into the junction between his shoulder and neck “you say something, dollface?” Bucky struggles to keep his noises to himself. All he fucking wants is to get himself and Steve out of his pants and to hump down onto the bed. Although he’ll settle for cumming into his fucking pants like a fucking teenager if Steve will get himself naked. Steve can get him to do anything if he’s naked- it’s seriously like being hypnotized. It’s ridiculous. Steve loves it. 

Warm fingers start fumbling with the band of his pants, his other hand keeps steady on his lower belly, making sure he can’t fuck into the bed while getting him out of his pants. 

“This isn’t gonna be easy for you, pretty thing,” Bucky shivers as Steve literally fucking growls at him (it never fails to awe him when he does that), “I’m not gonna tie you down. That’d be too easy for you.” He slaps him hard as the accusation hits the electric air between them, “besides. You’d also enjoy that more than I intend for you tonight.” He’s helpless to the breath of “noo” that drags out of him, “oh, yeah. You’re in for it.” 

The perverted promise has Bucky’s blood singing and pounding, marking straight to his dick and balls. Now that it’s been brought to his attention that he hasn’t cum in so long it’s all he can think about every time he becomes aware of his own body. He feels so swollen and achy. It’s got his neck melting under the weight of his head as embarrassment races through his body. Hot and uncomfortable in a way that’s good enough to make his toes curl as he fights the urge to squirm. He wants to get away from Steve’s voice and he also wants to be inhaled by Steve, to be consumed, so he can live in the fucking world where that glorious voice is his atmosphere. 

Bucky wants to hear that voice get meaner, he whines, intentionally fighting back as much as his own mushy, arousal sodden brain will allow, “c’mooon, you can’t tell me you wanted me to let you talk to fuckin’ Fury while you were getting your dick wet!” 

Steve rips his pants off of his ankles harsher than he needs to. Bucky feels tension, arousal, and doom pool alike in his stomach. He growls, no words coming through the sound, just the purely threatening, primal noise itself. Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head so hard it pinches oddly when Steve does begin to speak, “no, slut. That’s not the point. You’re missing it entirely- don’t go dumb on me already, you’ve gotta pay attention here.” He’s towering over him then. Tapping his face aggressively enough with his fingers and the flat of the top of his palm for it to just kiss his cheek in a slightly stinging way. It’s not a slap. Not yet. It’s just a degrading tap- something that’s meant to make him feel like a misbehaving pet. Like he’s not paying attention even though he can’t fucking tear his eyes away. 

“I love being deep enough in that pussy that you feel it in your throat, trust me,” Steve sounds so fucking causal that it actually throws Bucky through a loop. Well. No. Forget throwing him for a lop it fucking chucks him off the side of a cliff. His moan drowns out the next couple of Steve’s words, “...not the point. Whether or not I would’ve enjoyed it isn’t part of this discussion.” Bucky nods when he pauses, feeling deliciously dizzy. “What is a part of this discussion is the fact that you’ve been misbehaving. Got it, slut? I know it’s hard for you to pay attention to anything when clothes come off.” Steve snaps the elastic band of his briefs and adds in a quieter voice, more to himself than to Bucky, “look at these.” He knows if that thought were to continue that his underwear would be called something that they very much are not and just the possibility has his dick twitching.

“That’s not an answer, y’know?” He raises an eyebrow at him, flicking those deadly fucking eyes up to his face. 

Bucky finds himself whimpering as he nods, choking out an embarrassingly squeaky, “got it.” 

Steve nods, “good.” Heat rushes through Bucky’s body, his eyes slide shut and he rubs his face into the bed below him. Steve takes off his shirt in silence. Leaving him to lay on the bed, no longer using his hands to force his hips off the bed. Bucky knows it isn’t permission to hump the bed but he uses it as one. He might as well pile on the punishments, right? 

Wrong! Definitely wrong, is all he can think when Steve’s hands pull his hips back and force his knees under him so fast he actually assumes for a moment that he’s got carpet burn on his chest and knees as a result. His gasp is lost under the sound of flesh on flesh as Steve slaps his ass with one huge palm and uses his other hand to pinch and fucking twist the skin over his ribs. Bucky howls. Pleasure and a perfectly gutting amount of pain snatching all of his breath from his body. 

Steve bites his shoulder hard, leaving off the parts where he sucks his mouth over the abused skin and where he licks over the soon to disappear mark. Leaving Bucky to stew in the unfinished, sweetly painful sensation that radiates down from his shoulder to his gut. Consuming his thoughts and body. It feels like his nerves are vibrating under his skin. His lower lip trembles under the feelings piled onto his poor body.

He wants more. 

Bucky regrets wanting more than what he would have originally been given had he not intentionally pushed back simply because he could. 

Although it can’t really be that bad because the thought only flutters into and out of his mind for half a moment and entire time it does flash through his brain he can’t even put all of his mind to thinking about it. He’s too caught up in everything. In the way the air around him is so thick with the scent of sex and sweat, charged between the magnetic push and pull of them, the dominate and the submissive, that he feels like he’s breathing in syrup. In the way that Steve hasn’t laid a fucking fingertip on his dick. In the way that said dick is so engorged and fattened up with his arousal that Bucky can feel his pulse through it and he knows by the low chuckle and following wolf-whistle from his stupid fucking boyfriend that it’s literally pulsing, visibly, with his thundering heart. In the way that he also hasn’t gotten anything inside himself. In the way that he’s not even got anything close- not even any fingers tracing around his rim or even dipping between his cheeks where he’s aching to be fucking split apart, the closest thing he got to a touch to his pussy was the slaps to his ass provided earlier (that still are stinging thank you very much). In the way that Steve hasn’t even touched his nipples because he knows a touch there might as well be a touch to his cock or to his hole, he’s not as sensitive as Steve but he’s close enough that he apparently hadn’t even wanted to risk it. 

The closest fucking thing Bucky’s gotten to pleasure is when he was allowed to hump the fucking bed earlier for half a thrust of his hips and that had been through his fucking pants and briefs. 

None of his erogenous zones have even been close to touched. Not the spot behind his ear that feels as good as fingertips being dragged over his shaft when Steve licks and kisses. Not his nipples, the closest thing was when Steve circled them, staying far enough from the edges to keep all of the pleasure out of it, just the teasing was left. Not his perineum. Not any fucking where between his legs at all! The closest thing was when Steve walked his fingertips up his inner thighs, painting fingerprint bruises in the delicate skin stretched over his powerful thighs. The best damn thing he’s felt all night was Steve’s spit slick lips sliding over the dips in his stomach, touching and teasing the lines of his abs as he whispered out what he’d be doing to him now if he’d been good instead. 

Bucky is entirely sure that he has never felt such pure frustration. Agony even. 

His dick is past hard enough to drill diamonds. It’s some indescribable feeling that’s fucking terrible and if he’s not allowed to cum he’d rather just fucking cut his dick and balls off. 

Even just lazily thinking about his balls as Steve continues to play his terrible fucking, evil-ass game has Bucky whining and instinctively trying to close his shaking legs. His balls feel huge, heavy and hot between his thighs. Every time he’s able to shift and feel them touch his own body he has to resist the urge to yelp. It feels so overwhelming. It’s almost like he can feel so stretched out and swollen he is, not having been allowed to cum in such a long time. 

They’ve been at this for long enough that even the serum can’t stop his muscles from jumping and trembling under his skin, he keeps thinking that he can’t even feel his legs when Steve touches him, usually barely even putting pressure behind his fingers or palms, with the way his muscles are burning but then he does. Then the toture continues. Toture that he could stop. He could stop it with one fucking word but he can’t, he can’t because he’s too fucking hungry for it. Desire is puppetting his body and as easy as it would be scream his fucking stupid word and beg for Steve to just let him empty his balls, his fucking aching, throbbing, swollen balls. But, no, he can’t make himself do it. He can’t even think about it seriously. 

Steve keeps touching him. Petting his fingers all over his body. Unpredictable and maddening. Avoiding any area that just might offer Bucky a spark of pleasure that’s not derived as a by-product of agony. 

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been at this. He doesn’t know how long he’s been crying. He doesn’t know how long he’s been fighting against his own body in order to remain in the obscene pose that Steve wants him in, ass up and legs spread with his face shoved into their pillows, his arms stretched all the way up toward the headboard. He doesn’t know how long he’s been unable to respond to Steve without at least a twenty second gap between the words hitting his ear and his mind being able to process the words, even longer of a time period before he can get his lips to do anything but let more drool coat his chin and the sheets below his lax mouth. He doesn’t know how long he’s been choking on his own sobs and wails and bitten off screams (only bitten off because there’s no reason to scream when fucking nothing is happening and Steve doesn’t need that to go to his ego for how good he is in bed). 

Bucky doesn’t know what to fucking do. He keeps crying. 

His skin feels the most alive that it ever has and he’s half sure in his cock-less, cock-drunk mindset that if Steve laid his hand on his metal arm again that he’d be able to feel it. Steve takes his hands away. And, no, no that’s not fair. Bucky whimpers, opening and closing and then opening his mouth back up aimlessly as sobs punch their way out of him. Fatter tears roll down his face. 

His hands don’t return but his breath does. It rolls hot and predatory over Bucky’s neck and upper shoulders, his spine too and Bucky’s honest to god moaning. 

He’s moaning because Steve’s breathing on him. 

What the fuck is happening to his body? To him? 

He can’t fight through the haze of arousal to be too horrified by his own reaction for too long though because he doesn’t have any fight left in him. He sinks into it. Enjoying the hot wash of his breath over his flushed, sweaty, goosebump marked skin, he feels his eyes roll on their own accord beneath his squeezed shut eyelids. Tears are forced out of him from the force. Steve’s steady but worked-up breathing breaks and folds into that of laughter and he can just only hear the words, “what am I gonna do with you, huh?” over the rushing sound of blood in his ears which is fucking weird because surely there’s no way any of his blood is going anywhere that’s not his dick, balls, or pussy. There’s no fucking way. 

One of his boyfriend’s palms come up to claim the base of his throat and it’s such an erotic shock to his deprived system that he gasps as if he’s coming out of arctic cold waters. His muscles tremble and shake all over his body. His back arcs so much out of his instantaneous, deeply animal reaction that he feels and faintly hears his back pop and somewhere under the pseudo pleasure from the complete lack of real pleasure he hears Steve swear. 

The hand disappears. 

Something in Bucky’s heaving, tight chest snaps. He sobs with a renewed urgency, his face is already soaked with tears but he feels the wetness increase by tenfold. His legs go from shaking to sliding apart, unable to hold his own weight anymore. 

Before his lower body can even hit the mattress he’s being moved. 

Clearly still not allowed to hump the bed then, he impulsively thinks, half-drunk and spiralling out of control. He can’t find it in himself to so much a twitch, he feels like Steve’s broken him, at the beginning of this fucking venture he might as well have been a wild stallion but now he feels like something even more obediant than a horse whose been broken. He feels like a goddamn puppy. Being rolled over to literally show Steve his belly without so much as an aborted twitching finger out of him. 

His back meets the sheets and his overworked, underworked body has him shivering, his frayed nerves telling him that the surface is colder than it has to be. They’ve both been laying on these fucking sheets. They shouldn’t feel icy. Bucky gasps anyway, not even fighting the illogical reaction for even a second. He’s melted under Steve. He’s become something softer than puddy in his fucking hands and he doesn’t care. He couldn’t care less- unless Steve lets him get off. Then maybe he’d care less. 

Steve’s wonderful, evil hands leave again. Bucky has the same reaction but a little stronger, he’s got no idea where it comes from within him. There feels like there’s no room for anything else inside him with the sheer amount of overpowering feelings demolishing him. 

Bucky cracks his eyes open, finding at first that his eyes must not be open enough for him to get the real picture of what’s going on. There’s no way. But then there is. 

Then he’s being swept back up and he’s got exactly no time to celebrate the immense victory, another tempest is sweeping him up and carrying him into the hurricane that is Steve Rogers. He’s being pushed around again, limp as a paper doll and feeling like one too- one touch and he's going to tear apart. If Steve so much as looks at him like he might let him cum he’s going to leave the world of the sane for the rest of the fucking year. Maybe his life. He’s not going to recover from this anytime soon, he shouldn’t have even thought about the possibility of Steve not being able to make him learn his lesson. He shouldn’t have put that into the fucking universe because clearly it’s biting him in the ass. 

Well. It’s biting him in the ass but he’s kind of into it because Steve’s now naked. His shirt and pants and underwear have been flung somewhere about the room and he’s flipping Bucky over. 

His brain is screaming at him to try and just possibly attempt to communicate to Steve that there’s no way he’ll be able to hold himself up, not with him under him especially, but he’s too distracted. He’s staring at Steve’s chest and every bit of him he can now see without his clothes in the way. Steve stops moving himself. He’s on his back like Bucky had been for those seconds, minutes, or hours that it had taken Steve to strip himself. He doesn’t stop moving Bucky with all the difficulty of moving nothing at all. 

Bucky whimpers his complaint at having his knees placed on the bed again, the sound coming out sadder and even more desperate than his previous whimpers. Before Steve even lets him go his thighs are shaking. He genuinely doesn’t know if he can do this. If he can follow orders and be good. He wants to, god, does he fucking want to. But his body won’t let him. His body won’t let him. He-

“Have at it,” Steve breathes. 

Bucky’s mouth drops open and for the first time of the night, no noise comes out of him. 

Steve slaps his ass, growling in that low, irresistibly yummy voice, “have. At. It.” He emphasizes each word. Pushing his own thigh up in a clear invitation that nearly knocks Bucky flat again, just the fucking implication of what he’s to do making his muscles turn to liquid. 

Steve’s palms come down hard and warm on his lower back, knocking him flat enough to push his dick right up against his thigh. 

And Bucky is choking and sobbing just from one touch. 

One touch that feels like every bit of pleasure he’s ever experienced crushed into one fucking second of his life. It feels like he experiences everything in the universe at once. It’s bittersweet. There’s so, so, so, sososososo much pleasure trapped under his skin and taking over his brain but there’s also so much achiness taking up some of the space in his gutted body. He’s so fucking sensitive after first off being denied and then secondly being forced to dial into the smallest amount of pleasure. He’s drowning now. There’s so much of so much. It’s too much. 

Bucky doesn’t know how many ruts of his hips against Steve’s thick, firm, muscular thigh it takes for him to cum. But he does know that it’s embarrassingly low. He’s choking on his tongue and the flood of saliva assaulting him right along with so much of that other pleasure and pain and sensitivity. He’s got nothing to do but cum. There’s so much inside him that he can’t help but spill over his pale thigh, weak rutting of his exhausted body aside. 

Pleasure goes from overwhelming to being the only thing he can feel, see, hear, smell, and fucking taste. Everything explodes into pleasure. It blinds him from everything else. Trapping him in ecstasy. 

He doesn’t hear his own ragged, animal scream. He doesn’t watch as copious amounts of cum jerk, leak, and spill out of his nearly fully purple cock. He doesn’t hear Steve’s reverence astonishment in truly stupid amounts of praise. He doesn’t see the look on his face. He doesn’t feel the way his body falls completely limp onto Steve. 

He just explodes apart at the seams and blacks out. Floating and falling. Existing as nothing while also feeling the most he’s ever fucking felt but in a background noise kind of way. Indescribable. 

He misses the way Steve barely contains the shaking of his hands and he scrubs them over his spent body as if checking that he’s still completely there. He misses the way once Steve’s established that he’s done cumming, spilling endlessly really, over his skin that he pushes his fingers through the mess like he can’t help himself. He misses the way Steve arrages him with slippery fingers just off to the side of his chest so he can have clear access to his wet thigh and dripping cock. He misses the way he collects more and more of his cum and fists his cock desperately without wiping it away on the sheets first, his mess of release dripping down his wrist and spilling from between his fingers, coating his palm. He misses the gutted sounds bubbling out of him as he finally takes care of himself, just as worked up as Bucky from watching him.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, and everything else is HIGHLY appreciated. Anything is shit I cling to :)  
> I'll love you forever because I fucking live off of that shit and if you want to see more I am not joking when I say I write faster and with more frequency when I get comments!!!


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